One Little Black Mare
By Karen Castella
After borrowing a Belgian for a few months from a friend,
On a drafter was our next money to spend.
A blonde was the way we thought we would go,
Only to fall in love with a black filly with legs still a bow.
What a great business ---- Percheron breeders we thought,
Each baby born was another to be taught.
We loved each one from the day they were bore,
And all of a sudden we were up to four.
This young one is going that’s for sure,
But not until after this year’s show tour.
In the ribbons --- she did so well,
We better hold on to this one; her offspring we’ll sell.
Breaking old mom was such a thrill,
“Felina’s broke” –those words I hear still.
Watch as I hitch her to the breaking cart.
We all can’t wait for the cluck to start.
Too busy talking, who else should we blame,
Forgot to hook lines to bit---- instead to hame.
Did you ever see a Percheron fly?
Four foot fence --- horse and cart without a sigh.
The mare learned to plow at hitch speed,
A quarter mile furrow to plant the seed.
Harrowing with our gelding was just great,
To get away from a swinging gate.
He backed into the electric fence pole,
And almost wiped out husband and new foal.
We were dead last in our first hitch class,
An old farm wagon just didn’t pass.
Bet you can’t guess what we now need,
Patent harness, a hitch wagon to be in the lead.
We haven’t seen him for months on end,
He’s locked in the garage fitting every bend.
Its back must sway like the old,
And all the chrome parts out of the original mold.
Is it worth it all, I don’t have a clue,
I guess it is when you win the blue.
Then there is the shoeing stock,
I can do it myself to stay out of hock.
On entering the barn, I let out a cackle,
The only way this mare will ft is to use block & tackle.
It’s Diesel’s turn, where did I go wrong,
To bend his leg we need a come-along.
We are so thirsty, the first thing we’ll do
Is head for the pond where the mud is so thick,
Which releases each plate so very quick.
When the hay in the barn needs to be stacked,
And my husband has his usual asthma attack.
And the stalls need to desperately be cleaned,
And a foal I screaming because it’s being weaned.
Sleeping in the barn on nights when they colic,
And hoping the next day they will be out to frolic.
I just reflect back to ten years ago,
And who then would know,
What love would come from that one little mare,
That first Percheron baby we took into our care.